"Piston, you got her?" Riff shouted over his shoulder.
The gruffle's voice rose from the main deck below. "Got the little slimeball."
Riff clutched his armrests. "Giga, now fly! Ram that thing! Knock it out into open space."
"Happy to comply!" Giga smiled sweetly, and the sounds of processing CPUs rose from inside her.
The Dragon Huntress changed course . . . and charged forward, engines roaring.
The tardigrade bellowed and tried to escape, but it was too slow. The Dragon Huntress rammed into the massive creature's soft body. The tardigrade wailed and thrashed . . . and went tumbling deep into the darkness, flying far from the asteroid.
"Give it a warning shot, Gig." Riff pointed. "Just enough fire to scare it away."
Plasma fire blasted out from the Dragon Huntress. The flames reflected against the tardigrade. The creature turned tail and began flying away, fleeing the asteroid until it vanished into the distance.
Riff exhaled. It felt like he'd been holding his breath for the past hour. Air had never tasted sweeter.
Actually, the air here stinks. He sniffed and grimaced.
The stench came from behind him. He turned around to see a tiny, slimy green monster pointing at him.
"You owe me, Captain!" Twig said, dripping ooze. "Big time. I want a big, big bonus."
Romy covered her nose. "You stink."
Twig's fists shook. She roared out in fury, then spun around and marched off.
Hopefully to the shower, Riff thought.
He nodded with satisfaction and looked at the others. "Friends? The Alien Hunters are back in business."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
THE HUNT
An iridescent beetle, green and purple and mottled in gold, scurried across the grassy forest floor, one of Planet Cirona's most beautiful and treasured forms of native life.
A massive boot, tipped with iron claws, slammed down and crushed it.
The beetle died with a squeak.
Skrum, warrior of the Skelkrin Empire, wiped the sole of his boot against a mossy boulder. He spat.
"This damn planet is swarming with vermin." He looked around at the trees, ferns, and flying birds of many colors. Bile rose in his throat. "Disgusting backwater. Just the sort of planet the humans would settle. Just the sort of planet a filthy pirilian would hide on."
Skrum did not know who he hated more—the pathetic, sniveling humans, mere apes who dared venture to the stars, or the pirilians with their purple skin, glowing yellow eyes, and magic. It was like deciding what you hated more: bugs infesting your home or a wild wolf pawing at your door. Luckily, like most skelkrins, Skrum had enough hatred in him for more than one species.
"We should burn down the forest." Hotak, a soldier with matted white hair, sneered and hefted her flamethrower. "Burn down every damn tree and fern."
Skrum turned to stare at the female. He didn't care much for females, especially not on field missions. Yet even he had to admire Hotak's sheer strength. Muscles coiled across her long, crimson limbs. Her white eyes blazed like molten stars. Her tongue reached out from her jaws to lick her fangs. She stood eight feet tall, almost as tall as Skrum. Like him, she wore a black breastplate studded with spikes. Like him, she served Emperor Lore, the greatest of the skelkrin warriors.
But unlike me, she's a fool.
He gripped her wrist, forcing her flamethrower down. "Use that rotted piece of meat inside your skull!" He huffed. "Midnight is hiding here. If you burn down the forest, you'll burn her too."
Hotak snorted. Her drool dripped down her chin and sizzled against the floor. "Good! Pirilians are pathetic little wretches. I'll enjoy feasting on her charred flesh."
Skrum backhanded her. "You fool! We need her alive. Emperor Lore demands it."
At the thought of his emperor, Skrum felt a trickle of fear. The Emperor thought that Midnight was still on her way to Earth, perhaps on Earth already. Skrum had dared not reveal that he had captured the pirilian above Planet Cirona, only to let her slip from his grasp.
If Emperor Lore learns that we had her in our hangar, that she escaped us . . . Skrum clenched his fists. He did not want to think about the torture he would endure. He would not feel safe hailing Emperor Lore again until he had the pirilian back in his grasp.
Skrum turned toward the other skelkrin warriors he led. Twenty stood in the forest, beings of crimson skin, bulging muscles, gleaming claws and fangs, cruel white eyes, black armor. Beings of strength. Apex predators. All they needed was one girl, one more conquest . . . and the galaxy would be theirs.
"We will find her alive," Skrum said. "Every day that she's gone, I will kill one of you. The first skelkrin to find her will become my second-in-command! Now follow. We hunt."
Their nostrils flared, sniffing the forest. They continued moving, trampling over the ferns and the small animals that scurried underfoot. The air stank so badly of life that Skrum could not smell the pirilian. But he knew she was here. He had seen her starjet crash down. He would find her, bring her back to his emperor.
And then I will command more than just a single warship. He licked the drool that dripped down his chin. Then I will rise to command a great armada for my master, an armada to conquer the Earth.
The skelkrins kept tramping through the forest. The trees grew tall here, their leaves deep green, their blossoms white. Blue and purple flowers spread across the floor in a carpet. A bird of red, green, and yellow plumage flew overhead, cawing. Hotak sneered and raised her blowtorch, but Skrum shoved her weapon down.
"No burning."
They traveled on, sniffing, leaving a wake of trampled plants, wilted flowers, and sizzling drool.
As they moved through the forest, Skrum thought back to his time as a hunter on Planet Skelkra. Again in his mind, he was but a youth, thirsty for blood, hungry for raw meat. Again he was hunting through the black, barren plains of Skelkra, climbing over jagged boulders and the walls of canyons, howling at the black moon that hid the stars. Again his pack moved with him, a hundred predators, their skin crimson like the blood they drank, their fangs bright, sharp, ready to tear into flesh. Again they raced across the wilderness, leaping onto the trundling beasts that roamed in the darkness, ripping them apart, guzzling blood, chomping bones, sucking marrow.
We were savages, Skrum thought. Nothing but barbarians. But that is where I learned the ways of the hunt.
It was on the black, rocky plains of Skelkra that Skrum met his master.
The emperor had descended in his warship, a jagged chunk of iron like a mountain ripped out of the earth. Lore had come to the wild plains to seek warriors, to seek savages who had not gone soft in the great cities of metal. Skrum had spat upon this lord, had swung his claws at the towering warrior . . . only for the emperor to beat him down. To shatter his crude armor with his mighty weapons. To break his body. To crush him into obedience.
"Rise," Emperor Lore had hissed that night. "Rise before me."
Skrum had only lain on the ground. "My legs are shattered."
"Rise!" Emperor Lore roared. "Rise and become a great warrior. Or lie down in the dust and die as a worm."
Skrum had screamed, coughed up blood . . . and risen.
Since then, he had always obeyed his master. Emperor Lore had asked Skrum to slay his own parents to prove his loyalty. And Skrum had obeyed, slashing his parents' throats. Emperor Lore had asked Skrum to thrust a blade into his own belly, to prove his strength. And Skrum had obeyed, wounding himself, nearly dying, screaming for days before finally healing.
And now Emperor Lore, the greatest warrior in the galaxy, had asked Skrum to find a girl. An escaped prisoner. A pirilian who could win the war, who could bring the galaxy to its knees before the Skelkrin Empire.
And I will not let you down, my lord, Skrum swore. As always, I obey.
"Foul worm!" Hotak said. Her screechy voice drew Skrum's attention back to the forest of Cirona. He turned to see the burly warrior raising her flamethrower toward a c
aterpillar that was climbing a tree trunk.
He grabbed the flamethrower from her and hissed. "No burning!"
Hotak bared her fangs and growled at him. Her eyes burned like stars, white, horrible. "Return my weapon."
He howled and spat. She snapped her teeth. The two circled each other as the other skelkrins leaned in, staring, smiling, eager for blood.
"I will not." Skrum slung the flamethrower across his back. "You disobeyed me for the last time. You—"
She lunged toward him, claws outstretched, screeching.
Skrum stepped back, dodging her claws, and leaned in to bite. His fangs clanged against her armor. She roared and grabbed his head, squeezing, trying to crush his skull. Around them, the other skelkrins howled and thumped their chests.
"Kneel before me," he demanded.
She squealed, clawing at him. "I will not!"
He grabbed a fistful of her white hair and tugged her head down, banging it against a rock. "Kneel!"
She snapped her teeth again, trying to bite off his face. "No!"
He punched her crimson cheek again and again. "You will serve me. You will not disobey me again. You will call me master."
She grinned as he beat her. She laughed, gurgling on blood. She relaxed and reached out to stroke his cheek with her claws.
"You would make a good mate," she said.
He grunted and stepped back from her. "Kneel now."
She knelt. Her blood dripped. "Master."
Skrum snorted. "Any other day, I'd have slain you for your disobedience. Today I grant you mercy. I grant you the mercy Emperor Lore granted me. Today I let you live, Hotak. And you will serve me well. Forever."
She bowed before him, bringing her bleeding face to the ground. "Forever, Master."
The other skelkrins grumbled under their breath. They had hoped for death, Skrum knew. They had hoped to feast upon Hotak's corpse. He would give them corpses, but not yet. Not here, not now. Not while Midnight the pirilian still hid from him.
They walked on, predators on the prowl.
The sun was low in the sky when they reached the field.
Planet Skelkra had no use for farming; not a single plant grew on that rocky planet, and the very idea of feeding on plants disgusted Skrum. His people were predators, feasting upon the flesh of weaker animals. The humans were weaker animals, and here on Cirona, they plowed fields, grew crops, spread like a disease.
"They think this is a farm for grains," Skrum said. "They are wrong. This is a farm for human flesh. The farmers will be our meal."
Leaving the forest behind, the twenty skelkrins walked through the field. The stalks rose high, but skelkrins were towering predators, and they trampled over the crops like over the corpses of so many enemies. A barn rose ahead, built of wood and painted red. Several human farmers stood outside in a garden. The weaklings didn't even wear any armor, so confident they were, so foolish, so weak.
"Skelkrins!" shouted one of the farmers, a female pup. The vermin turned to flee.
"Skelkrins! Men, skelkrins attack!" shouted another farmer.
Skrum kept approaching, amused, as several of the human males rushed forth, holding their puny weapons—humble guns that could barely kill a bug, let alone apex predators like the skelkrins.
"Stand back, strangers!" cried one of the farmers, a man with a brown beard and straw hat. "This planet belongs to the Sol Federation. This is human territory."
Skrum looked aside at his fellow hunters, then back at the farmers. The skelkrins burst out laughing, a sound of shattering boulders, of cracking bones. As the predators kept approaching, Skrum raised his gun and fired a single shot.
The blast slammed into the bearded farmer, tearing a hole right through him. The human was dead before he hit the ground.
The other farmers fired their guns. Bullets flew toward the skelkrins, harmlessly ricocheting off their armor. Skrum fired his gun again, hitting another farmer.
"Lower your guns and live!" Skrum cried. He shot down another farmer, then kept walking through the hailstorm of bullets. "Kneel! Kneel before your new overlords!"
A few of the farmers dropped their guns and turned to flee. Others knelt outside their barn. From inside a farmhouse rose the wail of women and children, an appetizing sound that made Skrum's mouth water. He shot his gun again and again, knocking down those humans who fled, and kept walking until he stood above the kneelers.
The twenty skelkrins came to stand around the humans, forming a ring of claws and fangs and sizzling drool. The farmers were trembling.
"Please, sir," one young man begged, his face tanned bronze, his eyes full of tears. "Please, sir, spare us."
Skrum reached down his claws to caress the young man's cheek. "I will spare you . . . if you hand over the girl."
The farmer gulped. "The girl? What girl?"
Skrum clutched the young man's head and tore it off.
The other farmers screamed.
"I want the girl!" Skrum howled. "A pirilian girl with purple skin, yellow eyes, a dark cloak. I found her crashed starjet only kilometers away. Hand her to me."
The kneeling farmers tried to flee, but it was too late. The skelkrins surrounded them, a wall of muscle and iron. The humans fell back to their knees, begging.
"There's no pirilian here!" said a woman.
"You lie!" Skrum grabbed her throat. "Pirilians are weak. They feed on grains and fruit like worms. She would have fled here. She would have sought sanctuary with humans, another weak species. Hand her over now and I will spare your lives."
"Please, sir! No pirilian is here. This is a human planet. A hu—"
He thrust his claws. The farmer fell silent.
"These ones know nothing," said Hotak, her face still smeared with blood. The skelkrin grinned. "Let me burn them. I like my meat burnt."
Skrum raised his head and howled at the setting sun.
Where are you, Midnight? Where do you hide, my precious prize?
"Burn them." He spoke through gritted teeth. He handed back her flamethrower. "Burn them all and we will feast. Our search continues in darkness."
Hotak wailed with joy, and her fire blasted out, and they fed. They were skelkrins. They were predators. They would find their quarry, and they would spread across the stars.
They continued walking in darkness, bellies full. The hunt continued.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
HYPERSPACE
The HMS Dragon Huntress stood back in Pyrite City, its mission completed, its payment collected.
Riff stood in the hangar, staring up at his starship. A deep, satisfied sigh ran through him.
"She's looking good, Captain." Nova came to stand beside him, her golden armor silent as she moved. She gave him a crooked smile. "Proud of your new home?"
He nodded and slipped his hand into hers. They stood together, watching as robots bustled across the ship, scrubbing off the rust and applying a fresh coat of paint. At the engines, Piston and Twig stood on ladders, installing new hyperfuel cubes.
"She's beautiful," Riff said softly.
With the tardigrade gone, Myron had paid them the promised one thousand credits, even adding a three hundred credit tip. Since then, Riff had been spending.
"A thousand credits for hyperfuel," he said, watching as Twig dropped a wrench, incurring a stream of curses from Piston. "A fifty credit bonus to Twig. Two hundred credits for a wash and paint job." He hefted the little bobblehead bulldog in his hand. "And ten credits for this, a little gift to our dear Giga."
And yet along with his pride, a sense of deep disappointment filled him. Nova saw and leaned against him.
"I'm sorry we heard no word of your dad here." She stroked his hair, and her green eyes were soft. "Wherever the pirilian girl hides, I have a feeling we'll find him."
Riff nodded, a lump in his throat. For long hours, he and Steel had walked through the bars and clubs of Pyrite City, asking about a traveling magician with a long white beard and wooden staff. None had seen Aminor Sta
rfire here in years.
Riff stared at the ship, watching the robots paint the hull. The ship, once a bucket of rusty bolts, suddenly looked almost presentable.
I wish you were here with me, Dad, Riff thought.
"Come on, Nov." He squeezed her hand. "Looks like Piston's done installing the hyperfuel. It's time to fly on. To Cirona. To find Midnight . . . and maybe answers."
The robot painters applied the last few strokes, then bustled off to another ship in the hangar. Piston and Twig climbed off their ladder and brushed their hands against their pants.
"Just hope Romy doesn't drink this fuel," Piston said. "Expensive stuff, hyperfuel. Made with pyrite, you know."
Twig nodded. "I like how it smells." The halfling's nostrils flared. "Hyperfuel. Best smell in the world."
They climbed back into the ship together. Piston and Twig both climbed down into to the engine room. Romy was pacing up in the attic; Steel had managed to draw the demon up there using some chocolate milk as bait, and the knight now stood in the main deck, sword in hand, guarding the loft's hatch.
"If the beast tries to escape again," Steel said, "I shall slay her."
Riff patted his brother's shoulder. "No slaying necessary. Just keep her locked up and away from the fuel."
Steel nodded grimly. "By my honor, I swear it shall be done."
Riff continued walking through the ship. He climbed the stairs inside the dragon's neck, Nova walking behind him, and they stepped back onto the bridge. Through the glass panels, he could see several other starjets in the hangar; robots bustled across them, painting, refueling, and scrubbing off space-barnacles.
Giga bowed to him, smiling sweetly. She wore a new kimono today, he saw, one embroidered with stars and moons.
"Welcome back to the bridge, Captain! Hyperfuel is installed and we are ready for takeoff."
Riff approached the android and held out his palm. The plastic bulldog sat there, bobbing its head. "For you, Giga. A new dashboard toy. The gift I promised you."
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